The 2nd Hunger Games
by Lindsey9898
Summary: Davie's world is turned upside down when his brother, Harley, was killed in the 1st Hunger Games. A year later, Davie is picked along with tributes who seem tougher than the last Games. Davie is worried if he would suffer the same fate as Harley. If that were to happen, who would take care of his mother?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys! This is my first fanfic. I think that the Second Hunger Games was covered, but hey!**

**Enjoy.**

Chapter 1

As much as I try, as much effort as I make, I can't get out. The blazes of orange and yellow lash me, giving me scars that will take months to heal. That is, if I make it out at all.

Anger makes itself known in her eyes. Anger and something else. It bugs me to know what it is, but I am still determined to get out of her grip and a tree limb that had all but crushed my ribs.

She wields a dagger to my throat. I knew in that instant that this could be the end of me. I tense up and accept my fate when I am all of a sudden upright in my District 8 bed.

The sheets, which were said to be super absorbent, were soaked through and through. My chest heaved deeply. I put all my effort into keeping the tears back. It's all coming back to me at once.

Today is Reaping Day. This Reaping thing makes me sick. It took my older brother away forever. The nightmare I just had was exactly the way I watched him die. Since then, I loathe the Hunger Games. I abhor the Capitol. Finally, I detest Gigi Barkon, District 8's escort.

The clock says 9:30 AM. The Reaping is at 10. I throw myself out of my bed and catch a glimpse of my reflection. Dark curly hair, unnaturally pale skin, hollow, green eyes, nothing really changed about me. Whatever.

I put on a pair of slacks and a button-up solid yellow shirt. Luckily, it's not wrinkled. I put on black socks and my brother's old dress shoes. I walk slowly downstairs. I silently hope that if I'm slow enough, maybe I might miss The Reaping altogether.

"Davie." Mom, who just fixed scrambled eggs and bacon for me, walks up to me and frames my face. Tears brim her eyes. It is clear that this day was as hard on her as it is on me.

"I can't believe that it's already been a year," I feel the tears welling up. I know I need to maintain my composure. Tear-stained eyes, especially at the Reaping, means you're weak. I hate that reputation.

Mom pulls away and fixes a plate. "Sixteen is too young to deal with this." It is true. My brother was sixteen when he died. Now I am sixteen. The age didn't really hold that ring it used to before the Dark Days.

My throat closes and all I could do is nod. I wolf down my breakfast. I walk alone to the Reaping. I have no friends. Since my brother died, I completely closed myself off from the outside world-for the most part.

They prick my finger for a blood sample and I stand in the 16-year-old guys section. I barely make it before Gigi Barkon takes the stage.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Greetings," I can hear a smirk in Gigi's voice. "Welcome to the Reaping of the Second Hunger Games! Before we begin, allow me to present a video on why we are here."

The screens on both sides of the stage display a video explaining that the districts rose up against the Capitol and how "freedom comes at a price." I don't pay attention. I heard it one too many times.

After the video, Gigi takes the stage again. "Now, the moment we have all been waiting for. Ladies first!"

Gigi crosses over to the girls' bowl. She reaches in and takes out a paper. Gigi paces back to the microphone. "Gabby Williams!"

A small pale blond girl emerged from the twelve-year-old girl section. She took hesitant steps toward the stage. When she's about three-fourths of the way, a girl comes from the fifteen-year-old section.

"Gabby! No!" The girl reached for Gabby's hand. A group of peacekeepers groups around the girl, keeping her from reaching her hand. "I volunteer as tribute!" the girl yells out quickly.

Immediately, the peacekeepers let her go and she clings to Gabby. Gigi looks shocked, but she recovers quickly. "I'm sorry, hon. Could you repeat that for me?"

"I volunteer. A-as tribute." The girl's voice is shaky.

Gigi looks behind her at the mayor, who nods. Gigi directs her attention back to the girl. "Come up here."

The girl obeys. "What's your name?" Gigi asks.

"Tara Lawrence."

"District 8, welcome our first volunteer tribute. Tara Lawrence!"

Silence crowds against my ears. It's only the second year, but we have realized that volunteering is basically signing your own death warrant.

Gigi crossed over to the boys' bowl and took out a slip of paper bearing the name of the male tribute. In a blur, I hear the words "Davie Howerton."

I snap back to attention. Did she just…

"Davie Howerton?"

That couldn't be me! Not me!

I step forward to the stage. I meet Tara's green eyes. We shake hands.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Gigi begins. "I present to you the District 8 tributes of the 2nd Hunger Games!"

In a blur, I am led into the Justice building.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I am led into a small room in the Justice Building. When the door shuts behind me, I slowly sink into the velvet couch. I know this room. This was where I saw my brother, Harley, last before he was hauled away to the Capitol and his death.

The first to come in is my mother. She puts her arms around my neck and clings tightly to me. I do the same. Mom has gone through this before, but it still tears her to pieces.

I pull back, fighting tears that were threatening to spill onto my face. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Davie, I can't believe that…"

"Don't say that," I cut off. "I might stand a chance."

We both know that I am giving us false hope. Of course I don't stand a chance. I hear that some districts actually train for this.

Mom hugs me again until a peacekeeper tells us that time's up. After Mom leaves, I hear loud sobsthat I recognize as hers. I heard them last year when she watched Harley die.

That's all who were to visit me. As aforementioned, I have no friends. No one but my Mom to connect to. Who would want to visit a kid who totally ignored you all last year?

I am led to a car. It wasn't the first time I rode in a car. I rode one a couple times during the war to deliver messages. That was all they had for guys my age. Delivery boy is dangerous all the same.

The car ride is silent.

In what feels like hours, Gigi, Tara, and I are led into a train station and past the reporters. We eventually enter a train that looked nothing like the trains I had to sometimes ride during the war if I wanted to travel from one district to another that is around five districts away. This one is much nicer. The car we enter is lined with white leather couches and has several coffee tables. As soon as we enter, the doors shut behind us and the train starts moving.

"Supper is in an hour and a half," Gigi informs. "Until then, feel free to do whatever you want."

As soon as Gigi leaves, Tara sits down on a nearby couch and breaks down. I stand at the door awkwardly. I have seen enough tears for one day.

Tara looks up at me and our eyes are locked. "It's hard on you, too?"

I am shocked. I don't know this girl and already she can practically read my mind.

Tara shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Yeah," I cut Tara's sentence short. "It's hard."

I sit down next to Tara. I put a two-foot's distance between us. The last thing I want to do is give her any ideas. Not with what's coming up in the next week.

"Gabby's my second cousin," Tara announces. "When both our parents died, I promised to take care of Gabby. I can't let her play the Hunger Games. She wouldn't be able to handle any aspect of it. Last year, she barely lasted a day watching the Hunger Games. She spent the rest of it in her room…"

I listen intently to Tara. Stories of her and Gabby were very intriguing. When she finishes, she locks onto my eyes again. "What's your story?"

I check a clock on the opposite wall. "We should go. Don't want to keep Gigi waiting."

Tara nods, stands up, and follows me to the dining hall.

We have this sandwich-type thing from this place called Greece. It is a pita wrap stuffed with lamb, a spicy sour cream, tomatoes, onions, and other stuff. This "sandwich", which they call a gyro, is a satisfying treat.

The drink we are served to wash down this gyro is called "Ginger Ale." We soon find out why. Gyros are rich and the high speed of the train is no help. I heard that ginger helps settle the stomach. That theory proved true.

After dinner, we watch the recap of the reapings. The tributes from one and two all volunteer. In three, the boy and girl are twelve. Four through seven are aged 14-17 and the girls are either much younger or much older than the boys. District eight played. I see a tear slide down Tara's cheek when Gabby's name was called and she volunteered. 9-12 go by quickly.

Tara and I are emotionally drained, so we go to bed early. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I fall into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I am forced awake by fault of Gigi knocking wildly on my door. "Wake up! Today is a big day for you! You don't want to miss it!"

I sit up. "Okay! I'm up!" I yell over the loud banging. Gigi stops knocking and walks away.

For breakfast, we have a thing that looks like a pancake, except it was much fluffier and it had a bunch of compartments on both sides. There is also sausage links, patties, bacon, and scrambled eggs with bits of meat and veggies in it.

I also see some coffee. I am pleased that they made it the way I like it: as strong as the victor from District One.

Tara, who is beside me, is quiet. I guess we both know what is to come. We are entering the Capitol today. It is for a presentation of the tributes. Last year, my brother and the girl tribute are in peacekeeper uniforms, with our one factory that makes them and only them. I hope to God that we don't get the same.

I look out the window right as a bunch of buildings come into view.

"Here we are," Gigi announces.

"The Capitol?" Tara asks sheepishly.

"Yes, ma'am," I answer flatly. I feel anger building up in me. How can something so ugly and vile like the Capitol be so mesmerizing? That is one of the world's greatest mysteries.

After two hours, Tara and I are in separate rooms in this building called the Remake Center. I have three girls as my prep team. One is short and plump with orange skin and purple hair. Another is petite with green skin and Gold hair. The last one was the closest to "normal"-looking. She was tall and skinny. Her hair was blood red and her skin looked like none of those skin dyes touched her.

"You're lucky that I was able to make your hair look slightly decent," mumbles the orange one. "Just because you live in District 8 doesn't mean you can't at least comb this rat's nest."

I don't say anything. District 8 is one of the poorest in Panem. It was no surprise. We were one of the most-targeted in the war.

Finally, the prep team is finished and I am left alone. I take a quick self-inspection. I am only in my boxers. My legs, torso, and arms are slightly pink from the waxing they were doing. I move on to my hair.

These locks sure weren't neglected. I despise this Capitol makeover thing. I do not regret fighting against this vile government.

The door opens and a man who had virtually none of those Capitol made-over freaks enters. "Ah! Davie Howerton! Am I correct?"

"Yes." I take a step back. As human as he looks, this guy is a Capitol citizen.

The man sticks out a hand. "I'm Titus. I'm your designer."

I shake his hand. Opinions don't matter when you are faced with a choice to be polite.

Titus gestures to a nearby couch. I sit on the couch and Titus takes a spot beside me.

"District 8 weaves clothes, is that right?"

"Yes."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you guys make textiles, too?"

"Yes."

"Then, in that case, I have a treat for you." Titus stands up and goes off to another room.

I am starting to like him. Titus gives off a positive energy that makes it hard to remember that he's a Capitol citizen.

Titus pops his head out. "Well, are you waiting for an invitation?"

I stand up and follow him into the other room-which turns out to be a dressing room. I see a blue body suit that's made of many tiny squares that make a neon green zigzag pattern. I am not feeling it. Oh, well. It's better than last year's peacekeeper uniforms.

Titus steps out for my privacy's sake. I put on the body suit. I notice a button inside my left wrist. I press it and my get-up changes color to different patterns and color schemes. I am surprised. Cloth doesn't usually do this. Maybe the Capitol had this kind of technology.

I walk out.

"Do you like it?" Titus asks.

I smile for the first time since I got here. "I do."

Titus returns the smile. "Good!" Titus and I go to the bottom floor of the Remake Center. Once there, I see Tara in the most stunning dress I have ever seen on her.

Tara's dress has a textile pattern. The collar rests on Tara's shoulders with extra material hanging casually in the front. The dress is formfitting and reaches her knees.

I look back at her face. She is wearing no makeup. She doesn't need it. The first smile I have ever seen from her already made her flawless.

Tara's eyes lock with mine and we hold this gaze. Tara takes a few steps closer until we are three feet apart.

"I am impressed with your stylist," Tara remarks confidently.

"Me, too." I facepalm mentally. I made myself sound selfish. I quickly follow up with "You look great."

"Thanks." Tara focuses on a spot near her feet. We get on our chariots. Titus and Tara's designer give us instructions to give off a friendly vibe. Easy for them to say. While Tara can pull it off with ease, I almost always come off hostile. Especially to the Capitol.

Then again, Mom will definitely be watching. This may be easier than I originally thought.

Turns out, it is! When Tara and my chariots are led out, the first thing I do is smile and wave. In the corner of my eye, I see Tara doing the same. When we are in the circle, the president, a rather young, lean man, makes a speech congratulating the tributes, thanking the viewers for watching, and other mumbo jumbo.

When it is all over, we ride into the Training Center. When the doors shut behind us, Tara turns to me and comes up to give me a hug. She stops short and let her arms drop to her side. She looks at her feet again.

"That was marvelous!" Gigi Barkon congratulates.

Titus lifts his hand, offering a high five. I meet his hand with my own. "You did it!"

Tara's designer gives her a nice long hug. "You did great!" compliments the designer.

"You did most the work, Tisha."

We all go up to the eighth floor (since we are from District 8, we are on the eight floor) we sit down at dinner.

We have some turkey with cranberries, green beans, and stuffing.

"Centuries ago, our ancestors had a meal like this on the fourth Thursday of November," Tara says. "They called it Thanksgiving. I read that it was about giving thanks and stuff."

With the Hunger Games coming up, there isn't much to be thankful for. I devour the meal, anyway. We go into the sitting room to watch the recap of the presentation.

We didn't get as much attention as District 2, but we were close.

Tonight, I get a better sleep than I ever had since Harley died.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

As soon as I open the door to leave my room, I hear a thump from behind the door. I close my door to see a giggling Tara. My heart flips into double rhythm.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," Tara laughs. "I have pretty quiet footsteps."

I can't help but return the laugh. "Actually, that'll help you. A lot!"

Tara mulls it over a moment. "True. Well, I'm going to get breakfast." Tara leans closer as if she is spreading a rumor. "I hear that you can actually serve yourself."

"That's cool! I'm headed in that same direction."

Tara and I walk together to the dining room. Lo and behold, there is a buffet on one side of the room. I load my plate with loaded eggs, Blueberry pancakes, and sausage links.

Tara and I eat in silence until Gigi Barkon walks in. "Oh, good. You're awake."

Gigi gives us the breakdown for the day. Training starts at 10:00, lunch is at 1:30, training ends at 4:15, and dinner is at 7:30. Oh, and we are requested to be in the Training Center at 9:45.

After breakfast, we have half an hour to kill. Tara and I go up to the roof.

We sit down on a bench in a rooftop garden. We sit for a few minutes in an un-awkward silence.

"What did you do in the war?" Tara asks.

"I was the delivery boy. My job was to deliver messages between platoons."

"That's cool."

"What about you?"

Tara looked at the sunflowers a few yards in front. "When Gabby and my parents joined the rebellion, I was told to take care of Gabby until they got back." I can tell that Tara is fighting back tears. All the same, a few rebel tears slide down her cheeks. "And, they didn't."

"Why do you still take care of her?" I ask.

"What else could I do?" Tara snaps angrily. She must've realized that she came off too harsh. Tara clears her throat. When she speaks again, Tara is more composed. "I just can't let her live her childhood in a home. I can't. The environment, the conditions, the energy. It's too much for her. Besides, I've been taking very good care of her while our parents were alive and fighting. I can do just as well now. Well, until I volunteered."

I am so dumbfounded. Tara never got into detail about this. All I can say is "I'm sorry."

Tara sniffs and shakes her head. "It's not your fault."

Another silent moment. I readjust my position. "My father. He also died in the war. I watched him get executed by President Snow, himself. It was televised. Same as when Harley died, except Harley's was for entertainment."

I pick up a pebble nearby and throw it at a wall. "If I hated the Capitol before Harley died, I despise them, now."

Tara nods. I can either interpret it as she feels the same way, or that she understands.

I check my watch. It's time to go down to the Training Center.

When we arrive, the head of the Training Center gives us instructions and rules. We can go to whichever station we want. We are not allowed to fight the other tributes. If we need a partner, there are assistants. We are dismissed for training.

My first station is camouflage. Being exceptional at stealth, I am quick and quiet to disguise myself as a forest ground.

Next is knot-tying. I learn some clever snares that can catch human and food alike. I am also taught to make a rope from a leaf of this plant called yucca. I make three about several inches each. I tie them together, tie them to a "stick" (really, it's a metal rod that one assistant keeps just in case one of the tribute pull something like I am doing now), and tie a hook on the other end. The instructor is impressed.

At lunch, I find an empty table. I sit there and wait for Tara, who is talking to who look like the female tribute from Four and the male tribute from Eleven. Tara sees me and heads my way. She motions the other tributes to do the same.

"Hey, Davie!" Tara gestures to the District Four girl. "This is Kaitlyn. She is thirteen and knows a lot about fishing." Tara introduces the District 11 male as "Paul. He knows everything there is to know about plants. I say it is pretty impressive for his seventeen."

I shake both their hands. Surprisingly, Paul's handshake is lighter than Kaitlyn's.

The next few days go by fast. I alternate between survival and combat. On the last day, I find that I am very good at spear-throwing and archery. I excel at camouflage. Oh, and I am best with a blowdart.

Today is the day that the tributes show off their skills in front of the Gamemakers. We are scored based on how much we please them.

"You nervous?" Tara asks. It's almost my turn to show off.

"Yes. I mean, I have been through hell trying to deliver a message and stuff. I shouldn't be intimidated by some Gamemakers."

"Don't feel bad. I can barely hold me lunch in."

We laugh a little to ease a tension that has been brought upon us.

I hear my name being called over the intercom. "Time to wow the judges," I say.

Tara giggles. "Break a leg."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The Gamemakers are slightly distracted. I guess they've seen all that they needed to see before they could direct all, if not most, of their attention to their refreshments.

"Name and District," the Head Gamemaker requires of me.

"Davie Howerton, District Eight."

The Head Gamemaker nods. I take it as the go-ahead. Without hesitation, I walk over to the blowdart station.

I grab a blowdart gun and a handful of darts. I load the gun with a dart and shoot a dart into a dummy. It lands right where the heart should be. I look at the Gamemakers for approval. Half of them nod. The rest are otherwise occupied with a big plate of shrimp with some red dipping sauce.

I shoot with the blowdart gun a few more times before I get lightheaded. I move on to the archery station. I pick up a bow and arrows and shoot at the dummies again. One of my shots actually splits the aforesaid dart in half. I hear some applause from the Gamemaker's direction. I am filled with some satisfaction.

I put down the bow and arrows and go to the camouflage. I disguise myself as the Training Center's floor and lie down. I hear murmurs of affirmation.

I stand up and move on to the spears. I throw a spear at the dummies. It hits the dummy right in the head-through and through. I hear the applause again.

"Davie Howerton," the Head Gamemaker calls. I turn to face the Gamemakers. They are all watching. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you," I say. I walk right out the door with a smile on my face.

I walk into the elevator and press the "8" on the elevator. I go to my room and take a quick shower to clean off the camouflage.

I won't be surprised if I get a good number. I remember that last year, Harley got a six, even though during the interview he said he thought that he did well.

When I am dried off and dressed, I hear some sobbing on the other side of the door. The rising and falling of the volume suggest that the owner of the sound passed my door. I open it to see Tara against a wall, sobs racking her body.

I approach her slowly. Tara sees me. Instead of running away like I expected, she wraps her arms around my waist. The victorious feeling from earlier is long gone.

I reluctantly return her hug and let her cry into my chest. After about fifteen minutes, Tara pulls back. "I wasn't thinking straight," Tara begins.

I pull her back into a hug. "Whatever happened, it's over."

"No, it's not! I'm damn sure it'll come back to bite me. Maybe tonight, when they show the scores."

I allow a silence for a moment. "Maybe not. Maybe you really wowed the Gamemakers."

Tara pulls back again and wipes a tear. "Right. Like shooting an arrow through a dummy that says 'Snow' on it would really impress them."

I am surprised. That is that last thing I expect Tara would do. I brush it off. "It couldn't be that bad."

"Well, if you're right, then pulling out the arrow and smearing red berry juice all over the puncture wound set them off."

I laugh. "It's not funny!" Tara exclaims.

"You're right. I'm sorry." I compose myself. "It's just that, I didn't think that you would hate the Capitol that much." I smile.

Tara returns the smile. "I'd better go. See you at dinner?"

I nod. "It's a deal."

After dinner, Tara, Titus, Tisha, Gigi and I are in the sitting room to watch the scores. The tributes from One through Four get an eight or ten. Five, Six, and Seven get either a six or a seven.

I get a seven. What? A seven? But…how? I only pay attention for the few seconds that show Tara's score. Tara got a ten. I get out of my trance and give Tara a nice, long hug.

"Congratulations!"

"How did I score well?"

"Maybe because you were fantastic," Titus suggests.

Tara and I lock eyes. How she could have an excellent score is beyond us. I am still happy for her.

After the showing of the scores, Tara and I go up to the roof. We have kept up a routine of meeting here every night.

"They want me to die off quickly. One way, or another. That's why they gave me a ten."

I nod. Of course. The Capitol is vile like that. "But, why did you score so low? You said it yourself during dinner that you got applause. Lots of applause."

I exhale deeply. "I think that they know my involvement with the Rebellion. They also know my hatred for the Capitol. They don't want me to get sponsors."

Tara nods. "Can we sit?"

I nod again and we sit down at our bench. "Let's be allies in the Games. I watch your back, you watch mine."

"There's one flaw," I say.

"I know you don't have many friends back home and you don't want them to feel sad if something happened to you, but I…"

"I care about you. If we are the last two left, which one of us would kill who?"

Tara thinks about this a moment. Then, she takes out a silver coin. "Back in the Justice Building, when we were saying our goodbyes, Gabby gave this to me. It has a mockingjay for heads, and the Rebellion emblem for tails. Nobody else knows about this coin. Whoever wins this will be spared. Heads or Tails?"

"Heads."

Tara flips the coin. It lands as tails. I'm a little relieved. Mom can take care of herself. She is healthy and athletic. And she cooks excellent.

Gabby, however, has nothing. If Tara dies, Gabby will be sent to a home. Tara did tell him that Gabby couldn't handle it.

Tara looks sad. "Tara-"

"No, it's okay. I need to fight to stay alive. For Gabby."

"You don't seem very enthusiastic about it."

"I just told you. It's okay!" Tara snaps. "No, I don't want you to die! But I need to take care of Gabby! She's the only family I have left!" Tara's voice quiets down, but the intensity is the same. "I care about you. Even though you have a reputation of being isolated, you listened to me go on and on about my life. No guy has ever done that for me. But if I have to let you go, then I will, goddamnit! We flipped a coin, it landed tails. I don't like it as much as I should, but I must honor it. No matter how much hell I will be put through."

I frame her face with my hands. "I care about you, too. I want you to be safe. And if something happens and I am the victor, I promise you that I will take care of Gabby like you do."

"Thank you for clearing that up for me." Tara leans in and kisses me long and slow. I return the kiss. After a few minutes, Tara pulls back. "Let's go," she whispers in my ear. I smile and we run to my room.

After a lot of kissing, it's a wonder why we don't do it.


End file.
